


Heavenly Host: With love and dedication to Kim Jonghyun

by LKChoi



Category: SHINee
Genre: After-life, Angels, Angst, Crack, Death, Dedication, Fluff, Humor, Hurt and comfort, I FUCKING LOVE THIS MAN, Jonghyun - Freeform, Kim Jonghyun - Freeform, MY DAMN HEART HURTS, Other, SHINee - Freeform, Singing, Twitter memes, all the feels, artist, auditions, heavn, pain and suffering, you did well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LKChoi/pseuds/LKChoi
Summary: Jonghyun earns his place among legends in an interesting way.





	Heavenly Host: With love and dedication to Kim Jonghyun

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – I had this idea shortly after his tragedy when I started seeing memes and jokes reflecting facets of Jonghyun’s personality which we all know and love. They made me laugh and brought me so much joy, so when I started this, it made me very happy. Then writer’s block and my own depression hit, (as well as a series of unfortunate events at home}, and I couldn’t get back to it no matter what I tried. 
> 
> Some months later, today, on his birthday, the rest of the words and about 6 pages of content finally spilled out of me. If there is anything I firmly believe, it is that things can sometimes happen only when they are meant to. I know that I can be happy with this. I consider it a dedication to Jonghyun. I hope you guys enjoy it and perhaps find some peace and comfort in it, just as I have. Feel free to share your feelings, criticisms and thoughts in the comments. Thank you for reading.
> 
> Happy Birthday Kim Jonghyun. You did well. 
> 
> Disclaimer/Warning: Please keep all controversies/theories/ill sentiments about the artists written about in this story to yourself. This fic is not meant to challenge that, nor do I really even care what others might have to say about it since this is not the place for that. This fanfic is just as much crack/humor and fluff as it is angst. I touch on some sensitive subject matter, especially towards the end. It may be triggering. May even make you cry. I caution you to read this story at your own discretion.

Heaven has a way of restoring souls to their peak, making them appear as the world saw them when they shined the brightest. Some die in their prime, while others, not so much for an infinite amount of reasons.

Whitney Houston sat proudly in her judge’s chair, basking in her own restored glory. The Whitney that wasn’t a shadow of her former self. The phenomenal songstress the world still revered. The one she wanted God to acknowledge, (and He did), through all her struggle and pain. Or, as Oprah proclaimed her; “The Voice”.

Her skin was like milk chocolate, only complimented by her soft almond eyes and sweet smile. She tossed her head once to knock a few curly brown strands out of her eyes, frowning slightly when they fell back in place, obscuring her vision of the handsome young Korean man preparing himself on stage.

If she was the saintly mother of the panel, then surely, Prince was the shady aunt who pointed out you’re in your second marriage while having your sixth child during Thanksgiving dinner. He sat there, prominently dressed in the most elegant purple garments, _ready_ to judge. To him, the man didn’t strike him as anything remarkable. He was short and enthusiastic with very handsome features. The same enthusiasms as countless souls who presented themselves before their panel proclaiming to be _born_ singers.

The brunette’s profile affiliated him with a company called SM Entertainment and a group called Shinee. Prince was infamous for his reservations about contracts and artistic liberty. This man had been with them for 10 years, and if Prince’s experience within the industry taught him anything, then he knew that kind of loyalty likely came at the cost of individual freedom. He pondered what could have made the man stay for so long, sacrificing himself. Yet, simply for the love of music, Prince also understood the temptation.

Prince was skeptical, and even though his profile stated that he wrote and composed the majority of his own music, he still expected an industry puppet who didn’t know what real musicians were. The profile also cited singers like Maxwell and himself as musical influences that helped shape his vocal technique.

 _Hmph,_ Prince thought spitefully. _We’ll see._

Michael Jackson glanced at Prince, knowing the man was ready to pass judgement before even listening. He shook his head disapprovingly, jet black curls brushing against the pale skin of his cheeks. He then faced forward, his glittering gloves reflecting heavenly light as he adjusted one after the other, preparing to hear the young hopeful with a willing and honest heart.

David Bowie, always the debonair Englishman, had a contemplative look on his face. He was studying the man on stage, admiring his eagerness to perform. He seemed thoughtful about what he was about to sing for them, a very self-aware kind of artist. Upon watching his simple prep and the care in which he put into explaining to the band very carefully how his song will be played, Bowie had a small smile on his face.

Bowie had hope, and a strong gut feeling, that something interesting was about to happen.

Jonghyun took a deep breath in and released it slowly, letting the tension slowly leave his entire body as he took centerstage. He was anxious, but the nerves didn’t throttle his excitement. He was on stage where his soul truly belonged, in front of pioneers of the craft he admired more than words could express, one of whom Taemin would literally die just to meet. He chuckled to himself on that thought, making a mental note to send a message in his dreams advising him not to do it once he earned the power.

Jonghyun was only a fledgling angel, his tiny brown wings just big enough to reach the bottom of his back.

Minho would probably joke that they were fitting of him; small, tender and indescribably soft. Key would nag about how ruffled the feathers looked and plan ways to bedazzle them once they got bigger for all of Heaven to marvel at. Jinki would just smile fondly at him, lightly stroke the feathers between firm yet gentle fingers. Tell him know just how cute they are, reassuring Jonghyun of how deserving he was of them. While Taemin would liken his appearance to that of some bishounen angel character from an anime, and would buy the figure of him just to emphasize how enamored he truly was of the fact.

In contrast, the lot of judges that sat before him had earned theirs in full form, some upon arrival according to rumors. They were sitting on cloudy white stools behind a glass table, so it was easy to gage just how magnificent they were. They were sleek as silk, a pearlescent kind of white that seemed far too fine to touch. Whitney’s stretched further than her springy brown tresses, like the trail of a fine evening gown fluttering to the ground behind her. The others had the same, lengthy and seemingly fragile as glass, yet were said to be powerful enough to carry them across the endless pastel skies of Heave at mach speed.  

It was truly astonishing. When Jonghyun was informed about what his would eventually become, he imagined what it would feel like to lift effortlessly above where he stood. To rise higher and higher above the clouds until he could reach the stars. Shed the weight of his soul to be lost among them. To finally soar higher than the moon. Touch the edge of the galaxy.

Surprisingly, it was the most soft-spoken of the panel who talked first. He spoke simply and warmly, his tone cordial as much as it was inviting. A man who was berated just as much as he was idolized. Painted as a monster, yet was, in reality, a fragile soul with a voice like the air itself, refreshing and gentle.

“Hello. Thank you for coming,” Michael said with a smile on his face and subtle wave of his glittering hand. “We look forward to hearing you today. What is your name?” 

In a shocking moment, it occurred to Jonghyun that he was talking to Taemin’s idol. The very man who his dongsaeng set out to reach and reflect through dance was actually here in front of him, setting his gentle eyes upon Jonghyun intending to hear all he had to say through speech and song. He lost the words of his practiced introduction and could only utter one:

“Taemin…”

“Ah, so your name is Taemin?” Whitney asked, then glanced down at her copy of his profile. “The profile says something different…”

Jonghyun panicked in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing a light pink when he realized what he’d done. He laughed bashfully and waved a hand in denial.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologized. “My name is Jonghyun, Kim Jonghyun. Taemin is my younger brother. He just, he loves you _so,_ _so_ much Mr. Jackson.”

Michael let out a childishly gleeful laugh that made Jonghyun blush.

“Just call me Michael,” he offered.

Jonghyun was overcome with reverence, even more than what he felt when he first saw Prince, specifically because he had to bare the burden of not sharing this experience with Taemin. He suddenly felt like a rock was wedged in his throat, and tears threatened to swell in his eyes, but he swallowed the thick emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

More shameful than falling apart before icons would be the act of missing such an opportunity. As much as music was one of Jonghyun’s greatest joys, it was also the heaviest bolder attached to his shackled feet. It brought him closer to millions of people, and was the precious singular component that bonded him to Kibum, Jinki, Minho, and Taemin.

Jonghyun arrived to Heaven in a flash, the grim experience of death long since forgotten. He was promised peace. He was promised the end of all the anguish he suffered. But in addition to that, he was offered a chance to make something of his absence on Earth. When the angels first informed him about singing in the heavenly choir, he really wasn’t sure how to feel. It wasn’t until he learned of the ability to reach earthbound souls that he signed up to audition. If he could still sing for them, let his voice melt into the wind and brush past their ears on a warm morning or cool against their skin on a night when the moon was full and bright, then he would at least try. 

Jonghyun cleared his throat and composed himself, returning back to the conversation.

“I’m honored,” Jonghyun said ducking his head in a courteous bow. “If I can, I just want to say you _have_ to watch Taemin’s performances. If I can, I’ll show them to you myself. He’s such an amazing dancer. I’m so proud of him, and I’m confident you would be too.”

Michael seemed delighted and intrigued by this, but before the tangent could continue, Prince cleared his throat.

“So,” he started in a flat tone. “I heard through the grapevine that you think you got, something like I got.”

Whitney huffed out a laugh and shook her head.

_The Shade King attacks._

“I can only hope so,” Jonghyun replied humbly.

“Mm,” he hummed with an eye roll. “I guess we’ll see for ourselves.”

It was Bowie who spoke next, carefully and eloquently addressing him in that soothingly attractive yet grungy English accent.

“I want to take a moment to inform you that the committee insists upon denying us the advantage of listening to any artists’ music prior to death. Yes, yes, very grim to point out such a dark thing, but no use denying where we all are…but anyway, I rather find that to be innovative for a place of judgement. Gives us chance to truly meet you as a performer. I hope I like who meet, Kim Jonghyun.”

“I will show my honest self,” Jonghyun said graciously. “Ah, speaking of which.”

Jonghyun suddenly walked offstage, returning a few moments later with an open cardboard box. He approached the table and gently sat it on the glass, proceeding to pull out signed cassettes and a set of CDs, distributing them evenly among the judges.

“Wow, haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” remarked Whitney, running her fingers along the thick plastic cover.

She seemed fascinated by the group posed on the cover, a set of five dashing Korean men, (including Jonghyun), dressed in classic 90s broad shoulder suits rocking gold chains.

“Is this the group mentioned in your profile?” she inquired.

“Yes, this is my family,” Jonghyun replied full of emotions he couldn’t even begin to describe as they admired the retro rectangles. “These guys, my brothers, we made beautiful music together. This was the last album we promoted in our home country. Please give it lots of love.”

“And these CDS are yours?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” he nodded like the excited puppy he was. “The one with the monochrome is my first mini-album, has an overall soulful vibe that I hope you’ll enjoy. I’ll be performing a song for you today from it. The second is an album I created right before-”

Jonghyun paused before speaking his next words, swallowing thickly and letting his smile mask the bitterness.

“It was made before my death.” He informed them, which evoked sympathetic glances.

As musicians, the group knew his sadness, his unrest in the matter. They exchanged glances, but did not comment as Jonghyun seemed to settle with the fact.

“I don’t have a grasp of time here, as you know,” Jonghyun continued. “but I hope the thought of being the first ones to listen to it brings you as much joy as it does to me. I hope it’s to your liking.”  

Whitney, who on Earth had the voice of an angel, was now an angel officially and still beyond heavenly. She had the kind of voice that soothed all worries. One that could cradle an infant to sleep with just the calmest of whispers. She reached forward, clasping his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Jonghyun was taken aback, the familiar warmth of physical affection something he never thought he would feel again. But he knew it wasn’t real, just the brush of a motherly soul to one so fresh and vulnerable. He once again reprimanded himself, resisting the temptation of trading in his brave face for the comfort of falling into her welcoming arms.

“The stage is yours, Baby Boy,” she said with a warm smile, “Just let it all go and _own_ it.”

Jonghyun nodded with tears welling in the corners of his eyes as he smiled, so grateful in ways that he couldn’t explain. Whitney gave him a knowing look, reassuring him that he didn’t have to because she understood well enough.

Jonghyun wiped his eyes with his sleeves and picked up the empty box. Before he could turn back to the stage, Prince’s voice cut in, stopping him in his tracks.

“Show us what you’ve got.”

Something was noticeably different about his tone. In spite of his chosen words, there was nothing challenging in them. Instead, he had said it with a playful smirk, _inviting_ Jonghyun to impress them. Now, he was welcoming the possibility.

Perhaps it was pity. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Prince didn’t dwell on it any more. He just simply grinned back when the surprised man turned back with a shocked look on his face. Michael and David exchanged looks, just as shocked as Jonghyun. Was he being… _nice_?

Whitney, Michael and David all shuddered. They could swear that Hell froze over. Prince glared at each of them. If he was God, he would smite them all, just for whatever thought prompted their united snickering.

Clearly, there was something special about this, (as his latest album proclaimed him), “Poet/Artist”. He had a good soul and a strong heart. They could _feel_ it, see it in his gestures, detect it in his voice as he enthused about his loved ones and his music. Now the judges truly anticipated his performance even more.

After discarding the box, Jonghyun ascended the stage. He stopped to have one more talk with the musicians onstage. Jonghyun took what Whitney said to heart, and he really wanted to let it go. Originally, the song he picked was “Hallelujah”, as it would show of a powerful performance that seemed thematically appropriate. However, he opted for something different.

Jonghyun didn’t want to impress them. He was no longer bound by earthly judgement or criticisms. He was here to obtain peace and find a place in the clouds where he truly belonged. He wanted his voice to bring that sort of peace to others, those in heaven as well as those on Earth. To sing freely and happily. To show his true self with a microphone in his hand.

Jonghyun was ready to show them just how well he could do.

The panel of icons watched with intrigue as Jonghyun retrieved a stool to sit on and closed something small in his hand that they couldn’t exactly make out from a distance. The atmosphere around him had changed. The vulnerability of the man barely holding back tears had disappeared behind the visage of a relaxed and confident soul who seemed ready to project himself outward, make them feel and enjoy his song.

Bowie smirked. He was able to glimpse what the object cradled in Jonghyun’s hand was. How the man was going to utilize it in a song, he had no idea. But the prospect was an irresistible delight that amused him to no end.

This was definitely going to be an interesting performance.

“Hello everyone,” Jonghyun said in a gentle and professional manner like that of an MC at a poetry reading. “My name is Kim Jonghyun and I will be singing “Beautiful Tonight”. I hope you can relax and enjoy the song. Thank you.”

The room lights dimmed, spotlights illuminating the stage in a warm glow. It descended upon Jonghyun, bathing him in a soft yellow haze as the first chords of a jazz piano set the rhythm. Jonghyun had one foot perched on the stretcher of the stool and his heel tapped to the smooth acoustic beat. He clasped his free hand over the mic, closed his eyes and sang the first notes to set the tone of the song.

_Na na na na na. Base._

_Hey. Wooh yeah. Alright. Listen_

Michael nodded his head to the pleasant sound, smiling happily as Jonghyun proceeded to sing the first lyrics. Whitney seemed just as pleased, swaying along to his voice. There was nothing powerful about Jonghyun’s delivery, nothing too “try hard”. It had an easy listening quality about it that was reflective of his personality; honest, youthful and inexplicitly _soft_.

Prince loved the smooth neo-soul vibe and acoustic quality of the song. Though Jonghyun had no part in the instrumentals, his own voice accompanied it well, as if he was playing something airy and harmonic like a flute to accent it. It was…nice. Not quite impressive, but nice.

Bowie reserved his judgement. It was only the first verse, and that tiny little object was still hidden in the comfort of Jonghyun’s palm. But he found his anticipation climbing as Jonghyun got up from his stool and it was rushed away by a stagehand. He leaned forward, hands folded on the table as Jonghyun placed the mic on its stand and led into the song into its chorus.

_Oh, beautiful tonight._

_Oh, say oh say. Oh, say oh say._

The panel felt transported out of the clouds and down to Earth. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air and liquor bottles clinked as drinks were blended. Woman in sparkling diamonds and gentlemen in sharp blazers shared intimate conversation at blue candlelit tables and were served by the bar. The group were at their own table, close enough to a low stage with a close view of tonight’s entertainment, the warm glow of a small flame dancing in their cocktails.

Whitney glanced up at the shimmering cursive neon sign on the wall behind Jonghyun. In pearlescent aqua it read: _Blue Nigh_ t. It was clear they were being shown a vision, something only seasoned angels could do. Only rare souls could accomplish such a feat so early in their entry into heaven. The ones who left such an impression on the world that they gave it tremendous joy and light, but equally embedded a deep loss in their hearts. Only they could do that before earning full wings. This Kim Jonghyun was certainly someone special. She could see Michael smiling out the corner of her eye, and knew that he must have been thinking the same thing as she:

Surely, this man did well.

Nonetheless, they were in Jonghyun’s jazz club now, and the bright melody of his song filled the space and set a relaxing mood. Jonghyun made a gesture, motioning them to sing along with the second round of “oh beautiful tonight” as the backing vocalists ushered them through the simplistic English lyrics. Whitney and Michael did so gleefully, their own voices purposely subdued as to not outshine the singer they were currently enjoying. Prince side-eyed them and simply watched the performance. It was very nice, but nice enough to make him do _that_.

As they sang the joyous notes of “oh say”, Jonghyun stopped singing and brought his closed hand up to his mouth. Taking his other hand off the mic, he placed his fingertips along the shaft of a small golden instrument, positioning the mouthpiece between his lips. Then, as the backup singers sang the last “na na nas” of the chorus, Jonghyun lurched forward with the tiny musical tool in hand and started to hum into it.

The judges were suddenly knocked out of their reverie by the obnoxious sound of rhythmic buzzing as Jonghyun enthusiastically played the kazoo.

“Brilliant,” Bowie chuckled, clapping as Prince threw him a glare.

This was not amusing, not even in the least bit.  Or rather, he didn’t want to admit that it was. Jonghyun continued singing the second verse as if it never happened, while the panel still felt perplexed by it. Well, all except for David, who seemed a little too amused by the change in music.  

Suddenly, new faces started to appear all around them. Some older Koreans sat at tables and contently listened as he sang through the second verse, while countless others stood between them in droves. Men, women, adults and children of all ethnicities and origins held aqua glowsticks, thrusting them forward as they cheered him on. Then, among the newly gathered crowd that now filled the club to capacity and spilled out the door as far as the eye could see.

But among the new faces only four became more distinctive. The young men now stood on the side of the tiny stage, laughing and smiling as they watched Jonghyun perform.

“Aigoo,” huffed a lean stylish man with one hand on his hip. “He actually did it. He really pulled out that damned kazoo,”

In spite of his snarky tone, he chuckled lowly, looking beyond amused and happy.

“That’s our Jonghyunnie,” another remarked, his bright loving smile etched deeply into his soft cheeks.

The youngest giggled and cheered with the rest of the crowd, swaying to the rhythm and smiling innocently as he watched Jonghyun with affection in his eyes. The tallest one beamed with pride, arms folded while shaking his head, unable to find words for his overwhelming adoration.

Jonghyun himself seemed transported by the song, singing as if he was holding his own private concert, immersed in the vision, not realizing that he was the one who conjured it. He was glowing in the spotlight, his airy soulful voice so gentle yet powerful as he gripped the mic with one hand and clutched his kazoo with the other. Then with full vigor, he closed his eyes and played the rest of the song with his precious little instrument in his hands.

When the song ended, the crowd became a chorus of claps and roars of joy, the faces of the judges washing away in a pearlescent blue wave of glowsticks. Jonghyun opened his eyes, he was staring out at his audience, as they vanished. He watched in bewilderment as his private little jazz club disappeared and he was amongst the clouds again, in an audition room in front of four veterans who were clapping at his performance. In a daze he glanced to his right, his eyes widening when he saw his Shinee members smiling at him.

Jonghyun’s heart clenched and he opened his mouth to speak but choked as tears started to well at the corners of his eyes. In shock, he watched as they faded one by one, leaving nothing but the empty stage where they once stood. The tears poured from his eyes and he dropped to his knees, sobbing as the kazoo fell to the floor.

He was in heaven, free of his worldly pains. The ones that left him feeling broken even when he gave his all to piece himself together. He was free of the chains that bound him, making him feel like a prisoner in his own body. He was liberated from the weight of the world on his shoulders, so heavy that it made him feel like he could no longer walk or breathe.

Who would think that a soul could weep? Who would think that an angel could cry? But he did, and he was, in spite of all that pain he left behind.

He, too, was a victim of tremendous loss, even in Heaven. His mother and precious sister. His fans and the people who helped his name become known across the globe. His darling Roo. And last but never least, his Shinee brothers whom he shared joy, struggle and an unbreakable bond with even after death.

Suddenly, Jonghyun felt warmth all around him. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and looked up, coming face to face with all four judges, the full span of their large wings encircling him. The entire room was gone, and they were floating atop a bed of clouds as a calm wind tousled their soft white feathers and the tiny brown ones on Jonghyun’s back. An indescribable light beamed down on him from above, too overwhelmingly brilliant and ethereal for him to grasp or describe.

“Kim Jonghyun,” Whitney said offering her hand. He took it and slowly rose to his feet with her aid.

She took a step forward, placing a soft butterfly kiss on his cheek.

“The sorrow you feel, that too will fade,” she reassured him. “But no matter the passage of time, the bonds you share with the ones you love will always remain. They are etched into the very fabric of your soul, and they will forever be your treasure. You can hold your head up high and smile, knowing that the same rings true for them about you.”

“You healed the world,” said Michael, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. “Something that some people spend their entire lifetimes struggling to do, you did just by being yourself and doing what you love the most.”

“Musicians, _artists_ , like us,” said Bowie. “We suffer incredible pain of all varieties. But you see, that pain, that pain is our strength. It drives our music. Artistry in words that spill onto paper. Through our hands into instruments. By our voices reverberating through speakers. You can now take that pain and be proud of it. Be proud of all that you’ve done and the artist you became.”

“Look here,” Prince sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “You left an impression on us, on _me_. Not many can testify to that. I’m sure that all the people on Earth who ever met you or heard you sing felt and still feel the same way. Now, I ain’t givin’ you no speech because they done already said too much.”

That last remark earned him some side eyes that he promptly ignored.

“But, take my words to heart, ‘cause I ain’t repeatin’ ‘em. You done good, and no one else will ever tell you otherwise.”

“I,” Jonghyun said in barely a whisper. “I did?”

Whitney smiled and embraced him. He sighed into her warmth, his tears drying on his face as he glanced behind her and saw an mysterious blue door form behind her.

“Yes, Jonghyun. You did well.”

She let him go and stepped to the side, gesturing towards the door.

“Now, go on get,” she said with a friendly shove. “You’ve got a concert to put on.”

“What?” he asked baffled.

“New heavenly hosts always get their own show.” Bowie informed him. “They like us to show what we’re made of before we’re assigned.”

“And, of course, we’re going to attend,” Michael giggled. “Plus, I wanna hear more about that brother you mentioned earlier.”

Jonghyun gazed at the door speechless. So many feelings welled up inside of him, threatening to burst, making tears form in his eyes once again.

“You okay, hun?” Whitney asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Jonghyun giggled, swiping them away. “I’m sure I will be. But, are you sure I can do this? You won’t regret it?”

“Of course not.” Bowie chuckled him. “Now, let’s go. I expect more interesting surprises from you.”

“Alright then,” Jonghyun smiled. “Let’s go”

Jonghyun fixed his eyes to the door and started forward, a shimmering blue light spilling out as it slowly opened. He had gone through a lifetime of strife, almost 3 decades that felt like an insufferable eternity. He deserved this happiness and peace, this joy that started to fill his entire soul as he stepped through that doorway. Finally, when he finally crossed that threshold, and the brilliant luminescence of a soft blue moon surrounded him, he knew that he had earned his place beyond the stars.

Jonghyun smiled so brightly that the light emanating from his soul rivaled that of the moon itself. He was prepared to give heaven a performance they would never forget.

And so, Jonghyun put on an unforgettable concert for the angels. He performed all of his hand-written music, earning him critical approval and resounding applause. He even did a fan-meet, passing out signed CDs and promoting Shinee in the process. Of course, the overall reception of his show was kind of mixed, since he ended up performing a surprise Shinee classic: Ring Ding Dong. In spite of what they had said before, the judges had deep regrets about letting him go on that stage after that. As did Michael Jackson when instead of showing him just a few of Taemin’s dance performances and being done with it, Jonghyun started stalking him everywhere just to fanboy. Jonghyun enjoyed his time in the heavenly choir, singing his heart out right along with Whitney as a soprano, even having some saucy sing-offs during the bridge of their hymns that made them last an hour instead of 3 minutes like they were supposed to.

Here on Earth, Jonghyun is remembered as the soft, loving and immensely talented angel that touched countless hearts and souls during his life, and continues to do so well after his death. We can find comfort when we hear his voice through our headphones. See his smiling face through phone and computer screens. Look back through his long years as a talented singer and beautiful human who was loved by so many. Gaze longingly into the night sky at twinkling stars and upon the moon; knowing that he is at peace.

Still blessing us with his light.

Shining forever.

**END**


End file.
